


Veal

by MamaMystique



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, just a little smut, the murder couple strikes again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:50:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaMystique/pseuds/MamaMystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bedelia cooks for Hannibal.  Both of them get a little more than they bargained for.</p><p>Based on a prompt I received on Tumblr, and posting to AO3 to try and keep everything organized!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Veal

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Ok, Bedelia/Hannibal prompt: Hannibal returns home from work early (idk maybe he's doctoring again) and Bedelia is cooking him his favourite meat (people, obvs) for dinner. Plot twist: He had no idea about her murderous inclinations. (ATTHS, if you like)."
> 
> I took a little twist with this prompt and had Hannibal figure it out :)

Time stopped.

The second the veal spread across his tongue, the flavors exploding, mixing, telling, Hannibal’s gaze darkened and Bedelia swallowed as a shiver ran through her.

 _What have I done_.

The calf had been healthy, lean, and sweet. Bedelia had picked her out herself. It had been a bold move, but was surprisingly little trouble. How quick a knife can slip and end it when those lovely eyes and thoughts are somewhere else. Bedelia knew the power she wielded, and how to use it.

But some part of Hannibal remained unconvinced. Though he spoke to her of his need for her, had agreed to let her help him once the kill was made, he was still doubtful of her dedication. It was driving Bedelia to insanity, the way he restrained himself still around her. There was nowhere she could vent her frustrations within the walls of their residence in Italy, no one else she could (or cared) to talk to. She was desperate to make Hannibal lose his mind, to release the version of him he was still hiding.

What Bedelia sought was not love, but devotion. She could tell that the beast Hannibal kept locked inside of him held affections for her, wanted her, but was denied out of courtesy. Courtesy to her. How he could ever think that she wasn’t fully aware of what he did, she didn’t know. She had eaten what he had, and even still he refused her. He was scared, truly, that she would flee once she saw him, that she would wound him. Bedelia had no such intentions. If only he believed her when she said she wanted to stand at his side, to aid him, to be a part of him. Hannibal’s new isolation was self-imposed to keep himself safe. Bedelia was finding more and more that she hated safe.

That was when the idea came to her. One night, as she pressed herself to his back, listening to his measured breathing, she realized that if Hannibal wouldn’t show her the way, she would have to do it herself. That night she dreamed she was a dark and terrible queen with a crown of antlers, eating her victim’s heart out of their body. When she turned her head, Hannibal was there, watching her, stroking her back, coming to rest his head on her chest.

“I am yours,” he said, and that was all the convincing Bedelia needed.

How fitting it was, that meat she passed as veal. How controversial indeed. It was not the first life Bedelia had taken; but it was the first she took that made her feel powerful. As she sat astride the body, watching the eyes glaze, smelling the blood, she felt a sadistic shiver of pleasure run through her. Her own beast, the one that dwelled inside of her, reared its head happily.

From there it had been a simple task of preparing the meal. As the meat seared and cooked, Bedelia was caught between pleasure and an intense desire to vomit. _What have I done_. But there was no turning back now. She had dedicated to her desire to truly understand him, to unravel him, to expose him to her. Once the beast was released she would hold on to it, sinking her teeth into its flesh and never letting it go.

He was home early. It was only a slight snag in her plans, as she wanted him to see her only once she was ready. She had bought herself a new dress that day, one that made her feel vicious and dangerous, but she had no desire to spoil it with what she was cooking. He had greeted her just the same, a smile on his lips as he smelled the food (with no clue as to what it actually was), and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. She accepted it tenderly, letting him keep his distance, letting him only touch her as briefly as he allowed himself.

Bedelia told him to bring the side dishes to the table and wait for her there. He did so dutifully, as always, commenting briefly on the flowers she had chosen to decorate the vase that sat atop the enormous oak table.

“I have to change, just give me a moment.” He seemed puzzled, wondering aloud the necessity.

“You look wonderful.”

But Bedelia wanted to look perfect. If tonight was the night she would ascend her bloody throne, she wasn’t going to do it in a pencil skirt.

The dress was black, strapless, and attractively tight. Her shoulders were left bare, and she pushed her hair behind them to accentuate the deep plunge down the front of the dress that pushed and exposed the tops and sides of her breasts. The sharp angles of the sides of the dress, where straps could be, but weren’t, hugged her nicely as the fabric followed her curves and then draped to the floor. There was a long slit from her right toe up to her thigh, letting her move freely as she slid her feet into black heels. A beautiful green and silver necklace, one he had given her for her birthday, hung around her throat, the matching earrings drawing the eye to her face. She no longer felt like herself, and it was amazing.

When she emerged from the kitchen, dinner plated in small copper pots, he fell short of breath.

“Bedelia,” he whispered as she placed the veal before him, aware of his eyes trailing up her arm, to her neck, to her face, “you are stunning.”

She smiled then, pouring the red Bordeaux she had chosen into their glasses.

“Blanquette de Veau à l’ancienne,” she said perfectly, pleased that Hannibal’s eyes still had not left her. She sat slowly, letting him see the wicked curve of her exposed back.

“What is the occasion?” He asked.

“Self transformation.” She spoke carefully.

“In regards to what?”

“In regards to you. To us, Hannibal.” She raised her glass and toasted him, and he returned the gesture, both of them taking a deep sip from their wine.

Bedelia moved first. It would only work if she did. She cut a piece of veal and brought the meat to her lips, tasting her victory. It was rich, and melted onto the tongue, enveloping the senses. Her eyes fluttered close and she hummed, pleased with herself.

Hannibal was still watching her, and with some delight she said to him, “your veal is getting cold.”

“I still must understand what you mean by self transformation.”

“I have taken a step today, in a direction you once blinded me to. From here, the journey is in your hands. But I will be going with you.”

“Are you so sure?” His gaze was curious.

Bedelia nodded.

“Well then. You must tell me-”

He brought the veal to his mouth.

Time stopped. He knew.

His eyes fell dark, pinpricks of red glimmering. The rest of the meal passed in silence, Hannibal eating the veal delicately, tasting it, savoring it. Bedelia could hardly hear past the blood pounding in her ears. No emotion betrayed him, and he sat as still as stone as he finished the plate, then watched her nearly finish hers. She was equally as stoic, back straight, eyes piercing. Her intensity dripped from her gaze, until she stood to bring out a new bottle of wine. When she came back, Hannibal stopped her before she could sit, and she set the bottle down near her silverware.

“Do you understand what you have done?” It wasn’t a question.

“I never do anything on a whim.”

He stood then, rising above her small frame and staring at her with hungry eyes.

“Tell me, Bedelia. Did you have trouble doing it?”

“No.” Her answer was clear, ringing through the air. He advanced on her, leaning over her, forcing her to take a step back.

“Did you have someone do it for you?”

“No.” Her breath was shaky, her chest rising and falling rapidly as he loomed over her. She did not shiver with fear though – some part of her felt drunk on power and elation, watching him shed his skin before her. She was ecstatic to find what lay beneath.

He circled her in, forcing her back to collide with the table where no vase or glasses resided.

“Do you feel guilty?” He snapped the words at her, fiercely grabbing her wrists, thumb pressing brutally into her pulse. He was measuring her, testing her.

“No.” The beating of her heart slowed, and she calmed in the wake of his ferocity.

He paused for a moment, looking at her through the shadows that fell across his face. “Bedelia,” he dragged it out, taking his time with each syllable, savoring her name as he savored the flesh he had eaten, the flesh she had fed him. “Did you enjoy it?”

Her heart thumped evenly inside her chest, no change in rhythm. She remembered watching the eyes glaze, smelling the blood, feeling beautiful and powerful and glorious. “Yes.”

Her pulse stayed the same.

It was with a terrifying strength that Hannibal slammed them both onto the table, hoisting her hips up and over the edge so that he could press himself into her, to smother her as he dominated her mouth with a kiss. Caught unaware, Bedelia let out a breathy moan before she fell back into herself, brutally gripping his shoulders as she caught his tongue between her teeth. He retracted instinctively, almost stopping, but Bedelia refused to lose him. Snarling, she returned his hard kiss, snaking her tongue into his mouth.

Hannibal breathed out as she bit his lips, upper than lower, hard, swelling them, bruising them, claiming them. In case he had any thoughts of leaving, she locked her feet behind his back, pressing her heels into his skin, forcing him forward and into her.

“Bedelia. If you-” She bit his lip again, and he gripped her face to pull her away. “If you walk this path with me, you cannot return. I won’t let you. Do you understand?”

Bedelia let her head rest on the table, her hair coming to rest behind her and frame her face. She was positively feral, panting, eyes wild, and she felt so alive. “Yes. But know that I won’t let you leave me either.”

He smiled at her then, a wicked smile of sharp teeth. Reaching over to her plate, he claimed a piece of veal between his fingers. Gingerly, he brought the meat to her lips, and she parted them, tongue and teeth carefully navigating around his fingers. She chewed quickly, then swallowed, catching his hand with hers before he moved it away. Her tongue wrapped around his index finger, cleaning the remaining sauce that lingered there.

Hannibal growled as he undressed her on the table, fighting with her dress until it lay in a ripped pile splayed beneath her. His suit was quick to follow, and she brutally tore his jacket in retaliation for her dress.

The room became hazy with the sound of panting moans as hands, tongues, and teeth explored each familiar body in a new, claiming way. The taste of each other mingled with the taste of the meat they had consumed, and Bedelia laughed a wicked and cruel laugh as Hannibal bit at her neck, scraping teeth along the jewelry neither had the desire to remove.

Bedelia felt like a mad and true queen then, adorned in jewels and possessive marks that trailed over her neck and between her thighs. As she flipped them both over to admire the similar marks she had left on him, he dragged her to his chest and kissed her again. Her hair fell over his neck, and her hand slid between their bodies to guide him inside of her. Pinning him by his shoulders, Bedelia stopped him from turning her over, instead choosing to set the pace, choosing to deny and fulfill him as she wanted.

When they finally collapsed together, satiated, Hannibal gently repeating her name, Bedelia bent to kiss up his chest and to his still mumbling lips. She silenced him then, caressing his face as he stared up at her from the table. They were both a mess of disheveled hair and sweaty skin, and it was with all honesty that Hannibal told her that she was glorious.

“I saved what was usable in the pantry.” Bedelia said after a moment. “But next time, you have to help me as I help you. Muscle can be difficult by yourself.”

“Next time,” he said breathlessly, kissing her wrist, “next time you will let me watch you.”

Bedelia pressed her head over his chest, listening to his breathing. “I would like that very much.”

Both of their hearts beat calmly, a terrifying smile playing on both of their lips.


End file.
